Beyond Good and Evil: Ahmadou Kourouma’s The Suns of Independence
The classic postcolonial novel by Kourouma does far more than criticize colonialism and political instability in his native Ivory Coast
Francophone Africa has had a vibrant literary scene for decades now, one composed of authors writing about issues specific to the region and drawing inspiration from literary traditions from different parts of the world. Among the ever-growing Francophone African literary canon, Ivorian writer Ahmadou Kourouma’s The Suns of Independence (FR: Les Soleils des indépendances, published in 1969) stands out for its brilliance. The title hints at the preponderance of independence movements across Africa as a central element of the novel. However, Kourouma’s story is never made up of binaries that no one could reasonably question, such as the evils of French colonialism in Africa compared to the revolutionary potential of independence movements, or the suffering of the poor versus the privilege of the wealthy. Instead, the text asks us to dismantle those binaries to better understand the realities of the newly decolonized countries of Africa. It does so by offering us the perspective of a character that is not very likeable: a merchant named Fama descended from aristocracy whose business fails after decolonization. Instead of attempting to adapt to the new circumstances he finds himself in, Fama fiercely clings to tradition. Although this is a futile quest, the fact that Fama refuses to let go for so long suggests that in the middle of so much change people yearn for models that provide stability. Chaos is painful.
After losing his fortune, Fama moves to the capital of a fictional country of the Côte des Ébènes (which represents Kourouma’s native Ivory Coast) in search for a better life. In reality, his wife Salimata is the one who takes care of the couple thanks to a food stand she carefully maintains. If Fama’s suffering makes a compelling point for returning to colonial and pre-colonial social models, Salimata’s background story does the opposite: a victim of female genital mutilation and sexual abuse in her community, Salimata must flee and find support somewhere else. Kourouma’s exploration of Salimata’s past reminds readers that the situation for women in Francophone Africa was and remains hostile: colonialism and independence have not changed much the position of women like Salimata. The narrative of linear progress pushed by certain ways of thinking is questioned by this fact.
After a brief return to his ancestral homeland in the Muslim North, Fama considers returning. However, the local economy subsists predominantly on remittances from relatives who have moved elsewhere — his symbolic title of heir to a great dynasty means little in independent Côte des Ébènes. After returning to the capital with Salimata and his new wife Mariam, Fama decides to enter the world of politics. What ensues is profoundly demoralizing: he is seen as a threat to the current regime, tortured, and imprisoned for his alleged collaboration with dubious anti-regime figures. International pressure eventually forces the president to liberate and compensate Fama and his fellow political prisoners, but Fama no longer wishes to live in the capital nor see his wives. Tired of a system that has no place for him, he retires to his village to die.
Kourouma’s tale makes it clear that the injustices of the colonial era have not been fixed by independence movements across Africa. Poverty and mistreatment of women and ethnic minorities persist, democracy is fragile and often interrupted by bloody conflicts, and borders imposed by European colonial powers senselessly divide communities. Those wishing for a return to a pre-colonial stage, however, are not wise either: regressive beliefs from that era like those that devalue Salimata due to her inability to have a child have persisted. Postcolonial theorist and psychiatrist Frantz Fanon once spoke of the need for newly independent territories to find their own political system instead of emulating those of the capitalist West and communist East. Kourouma’s novel seems to lean towards a similar conclusion, even if it does not propose a concrete alternative. The act of writing itself, however, already begs readers to imagine better futures. Pointing out what is not working undermines narratives of progress that seek to hide the continuing struggles of people in Africa.
